The Dancer
by kumar LaVoixDuSud
Summary: When I first met her, she claimed she had been a dancer in the High Queen's court, but when she started narrating fragments of her life, I knew she was something more than this. Her story was like a fairytale. And who was this strange Queen and her king?


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Inheritance cycle.

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**A/N: **This story was inspired by **Kaytoko**. And it is dedicated to you, my Hope-Bringer, for all the beautiful moments I've spent reading 'Pömnuria Hjarta er Medh Ono'. Wherever you go, whatever you do, may you meet with good luck and happiness.

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When I first met her, she seemed to me like the frail old lady she was, her arms and legs delicate as if made of porcelain, her skin the color of old parchment. She claimed she had been a dancer in the High Queen's court, but when she started narrating fragments of her life, I knew she was something more than this. Her story was like a fairytale. **And** **who was this strange Queen and her king?**

**The Dancer**

It was one of July's hottest days and I found myself walking alone on the sunbathed pavement of a certain main street, all the other people preferring the shadow of the other side. It was almost midday and the sun was mercilessly burning the asphalt, as if trying to melt it. The passing cars didn't help either and any soft breeze that there might have been, had already ceased. It was awfully hot, but I had my reasons to be there.

As long as I remember myself, every time I've been passing by this street, preferring the left side for one and only reason: the small shop under the big hotel, where various, curious pieces of jewelry were being sold.

I hurried to the shop window beneath the arcade, where the thick shadow provided by the big hotel overhead, made the heat somewhat bearable.

The reason I was visiting this shop was to peer through the window and not at a particular jewel but at a tiny ornamental statuette, which adorned the main shelf, the bronze statue of a dancer. Since I was a child I've been fascinated by this particular statuette and now that I've grown older I haven't discontinued this habit of mine.

She was as always there, the little bronze dancer, frozen in a movement full of grace, half-sitting on a leg and stretching the other leg in front of her, her knee slightly bent, her two hands outstretched from both her sides with the palms looking upwards. I could figure out even the slightest details of her veins, fingers and fingernails. Her head with the elaborate hairdo was tilted slightly backwards and sideways and her eyes shone with emerald flashes.

This tiny little statue always gave me the feeling that, if the dancer had not just finished her dance routine, she would stand up and continue dancing. The artist who had created it had managed to capture the perfect dance movement with such grace and realism that was admirable.

But as the small statue was used as a window-décor, from its neck were hanging fine silver and gold chains with tied pearls on them while its slender forearms were decked with rings with precious stones of all sizes.

As I was alone in the arcade and through the glass I could not sense any presence, I found myself lost in dreams for a long while in front of the window.

I don't really remember having ever seen a customer or a vendor inside, so at the sound of her voice I jumped.

'Can I help you, my dear?'

Short and slender, an elegant, aged lady was standing in the threshold, inviting me inside. She wore her hair in a long thick braid the colour of polished silver, pinned at the top of her head. Big bright eyes – despite her age –, green as an emerald, were looking at me with fascination. A long sleeved, purple dress, trimmed with gold thread, dressed her slim body.

'I was just looking at the little statue you have in the window' I said tentatively.

'You mean the dancer' she smiled. 'Come in, come in. Have a better look at it.'

She opened the window and presented the little bronze statue with all its valuable load. And once more I found myself admiring how neat were the details of the dancer's face and the folds of the dresses.

'How beautiful!' I exclaimed fascinated by the liquid movement of the statue. 'Her eyes look as if sparkling. Someone might think that the little statue will start to move.'

'Won't it?' the lady said. 'As I used to dance when I was younger, I must assure you, you are right.'

'Really?' I asked, intrigued.

'I was a dancer at the court of her Majesty the High Queen' the old lady said with pride, making at the same time a soft twisting figure of her right hand, full of grace.

'Are you British?' I asked.

'No, my dear', she answered.

'From the Netherlands then?' I said with doubt. She definitely did not seem to be like one. Which other country is run by a Queen?

'Sweetie, I'm from far, far away! But where are my manners! The day is so warm, and you must be thirsty.' She turned on her heels and nodded at me to follow her. 'Come, come, we cannot discuss these things on the threshold and a cool refreshment would be most agreeable.'

As I followed her inside, peeking around the main exhibition of the jewelry, I breathed in a faint aroma of unrecognizable flowers emanating from the lady. We passed through a door well hidden with a curtain and I found myself in a completely different environment. A tiny, delicate drawing room with a couple of two-seater, velvet sofas and a carved, low, round, wooden table were the main furniture of the place. Showcases all around the walls, loaded with various ornaments, ornate silverware and crystals, completed the decor and I noticed in the dim lighting a small library full of old, leather-bound volumes.

The old lady, with a graceful movement, nodded at me to sit down, while she disappeared in a side room. Here the sweet scent was stronger, causing me to experience a unique sense of euphoria. In a short while the lady presented a large tray loaded with drinks and sweets, which she placed on the small table.

'Well, welcome to an old dancer's _boudoir_.' she smiled, while serving me the drink. 'How do you like my apartment?'

I looked around astonished. The place was elegant, as was herself, adorned with good taste and grace but one to live into the back rooms of a shop?

'Do you live … here?' I asked, my voice full of wonder.

She nodded vaguely, as she lifted an old ostrich-feather fan with intricate carvings on its silver handle.

'I find it very convenient, my dear. You see, I use the parlors and the dining rooms of the hotel and it is there, I usually meet my visitors and arrange my business.' Closing her fan, she indicated the room around her. 'This is my personal space, a place to keep my favorite possessions and my memories. Only a few have ever entered here.'

'I'm flattered' I stated, as I brought the cup she had served me to my lips. The drink tickled my palate and tongue, causing a peculiar feeling. Its strange, sparkling but delicious taste reminded me of fruits and flowers from a distant forest, smells of pine needles, dried leaves and damp soil from the rains.

Sighing, the old lady touched the statue of the little dancer she had earlier laid on the table with the tips of her fingers.

'Once I was young and _so_ beautiful I enjoyed to spend my time with people. Now I have grown old, my dearest and most beloved habit is none other than my memories.' She turned, smiled, and looked at me with her emerald eyes. 'Haven't I been beautiful? What do you think?'

Her index finger caressed tenderly the chin of the statuette, turning its tiny face towards me, making me notice the emerald sparkles of its eyes. I looked with wonder from the statue to the old woman.

'You mean that …' I whispered astonished, 'you mean that this … this little dancer represents …_you_?'

'But of course, my dear, who else? _I am_ the little dancer.'

Lifting her fan again, she sighed lightly.

'I still remember the first time I danced in front of the royal court, in front of my Queen. Oh! I was just a tiny, little child, moving so lightly, full of grace, like a colorful butterfly. I twirled in front of her and in front of all the courtiers, like a snowflake. Everyone admired me for my skill and grace and once I grew older, additionally, for my beauty.'

After her statement, the old lady gave me the sweetest of smiles.

'Indeed, you were very beautiful, and even now …' I started saying, but she stopped me.

'Thank you, sweetheart, for your kind words. Yes, I was beautiful, but not as beautiful as my Queen had ever been.'

_A beautiful Queen who is no more, _I thought. My mind was working fast. That was a challenge. I was ready to ask her about her origins, but she bubbling, like old ladies usually do – not that I was bothered– proceeded talking.

'Oh, my Queen! Her beauty had been praised by all the bards of the realm. I can still visualize her long, dark, curly hair, her almond shaped, brown eyes, her wide lips with the sweetest of smiles. Her round cheekbones and ebony, unmarred skin was so beautiful, so dark, as midnight itself on a night of a full moon. Oh! My beautiful, beautiful Queen, how I miss her!'

With her lace handkerchief she dried a tear, sliding from her eye, and at that instant I knew she was not talking about a European kingdom.

'I was her favorite dancer. She practically raised me, my dear Lady, so sweet, so merciful. She always had time to spend with me, even though she was so busy. You see, my dear, both my parents had died because of an illness that fortunately had spared my life and as an orphan I had been raised by my mother's aged aunt. When she grew old and was unable to take care of me, she decided to bring me to the capital and present me to the Queen. I was a skinny little child at those times, but I was born with my great gift, a talent. I danced! When I was brought to the court, I was hardly four years of age. As the years passed and my beauty bloomed, I was praised with love by many, men mostly, Counts and Dukes and other officials. But I paid little attention to all of them. I used to keep the deepest of my emotions for my Queen. I was showered with her love and care but, be sure of this, her love was being returned.'

'I'm sure you loved your Queen' I said with admiration.

'Not just I, honey. She was blessed with the love and loyalty of all her subjects. But most of all, with the love of the king.'

'Oh, so there was a king too!' I exclaimed, having one little sip of my iced-tea cup.

'Of course my dear. But, here, have a biscuit. I baked them myself', the old lady chirped, offering me one of her, fragrant, handmade biscuits. 'Help yourself!', she made an elegant dance figure, leaving the plate on the round tea table, before she returned to the comfort of her armchair. 'I used to bake the very same biscuits for my king' she chuckled. 'He was a man with a sweet tooth, I assure you.'

First she was talking about a Queen – _a High Queen_ she had mentioned. And now about a king. I was excited to hear more.

'And? How was he? I mean the king.' I asked seething with curiosity.

She lifted her fan once more; the iced-tea was a poor help against July's heat, which was stealthily slipping into the room.

'A powerful, fearless warrior. Equitable to all people, merciless to his opponents.' She folded her fan, with a rather theatrical gesture. 'And a very handsome man' she added, smiling at me with meaning.

'I see … You loved _your_ king, too.'

The old dancer took an unfathomable look for a moment. She straightened her head, her style full of dignity.

'He was not _my_ king. He was my Queen's king', she stated with solemnity, 'and yes, of course, I loved him. And, I dare say, I was one of the few. But I loved him because I knew him well.' Her genial smile, returned in a minute. 'You, my dear, should see them together. Oh! What a couple. My Queen was a busy woman, as you can guess, but she always saved time to spend with her king. I can still see them together, seating in their private garden, among the most beautiful of flowers, embracing like two pigeons. My king, singing to his Queen, and me dancing, to entertain them'.

I was astonished.

'Was the king singing?' I could never figure out a king singing. And as she had described him earlier, the image of the warrior was contradictory to the image of the singer.

'Oh! Yes. He was singing but only to her. None else knew of this gift of his but me, who happened to be there plenty of times.' With dreamy eyes she sighted. 'Among his other gifts, he had an excellent voice'.

'His other gifts?'

'My king was a sensitive soul. If he was not destined to be a warrior, he probably should have become an artist. But of course, as I mentioned, very few knew about it.'

I was intrigued.

'For example', the old lady continued, 'this little statue you've admired since your childhood, the same one that brought you in my shop today, is _his_ creation.'

'So, you mean, this king of yours, was a … sculptor?'

'Oh! Of course not. This tiny statue that represents myself, is a fairth.'

'I'm afraid, I do not understand', I said puzzled.

'Why, it's very simple my dear. My Queen loved me dearly, so her king sang one of my most successful poses to create this one and gifted her with it.'

'Sang … the statue?' I was losing her.

'Of course, as he did _this_ one.'

The old lady pulled from her neck a golden chain, the end of which was hidden inside her dress. She handed it to me. From its very edge there was hanging a glistening ruby, the shape of a teardrop, the size of a small egg. It was a magnificent jewel, but the most excellent thing was the carving of a little lizard's head, embedded on it.

I admired it, astonished.

'The king 'sang' the ruby?' I asked, as I handed it back to her.

'It was a present for his Queen, on their fiftieth anniversary', she answered, looking at the ruby with tenderness. 'My Queen gifted me with this a little while before she died. She said, she'd like me to keep it and he had agreed to it. Many of these jewels you see in here', she indicated with her hand, 'are her gifts to me. I pleased my Queen with my dance and, I dare say, with my presence and company.'

The old dancer stopped narrating for a while and took a small sip from her cup. She had made me very curious about this king of hers. I was thinking, was she describing some fairytale to me? She was old, yes, but her mind seemed to be, in every other aspect, perfect. Or was she living in her own dreamy world? And I was puzzled about all those strange identities of that king.

'My king was a great healer too' she went on. 'Once, while dancing, I misstepped and broke my ankle. I was in great pain and crying, but my dear, dearest king saved me from the agony. He touched me with his blessed hand and chanted his words. And that was it.' She stepped in the middle of the room, making some dancing figures. 'My leg, as healthy, as it had always been.'

The old lady sat down again, giving a sideways glance at me. Perhaps she was waiting for my comments to come. But as I remained silent, she went on.

'Every morning, while his Queen was occupied with the matters of the realm, he would meet anyone who was patient and wounded coming into the palace in the yard, and heal them all. And those who were very ill and couldn't come, or lived far away, my king visited them at their residences and healed them, too. And he traveled two times per year in other, distant cities as well, doing the same. Oh! It was so sad to see people, having been benefited by my king, being still ungrateful to him. Especially those among the courtiers. It was just not right.'

This was the most curious thing of everything she had mentioned. I couldn't help but ask.

'How was he able to heal all those people?'

'He was able to do this because my king was a Rider.'

I had nothing to state on this because I find a natural thing for a king to be a rider. To my mind, a king or a prince without a horse, isn't a kind of king or prince. But I had other questions for her.

'How come that, despite all his kindness, you were one of the few who loved him?'

The old lady sighed shaking her head.

'He was always mistrusted. If not for the Queen's love, the people might not have tolerated him. But he was a good man. A good king. He knew how to keep to the letter of the law, but remain just. Not many people know how much he helped his Queen to rule. He had spent his youth in the court of a previous, evil king, thus he knew most of the nobility. Plus he was well educated and trained in the old ways. His advice was always well accepted. But his connection with that evil overlord - even if he dearly helped in his deposing - made the people mistrust him. Unlike his brother, whose name was glorified and praised by all races as a savior. But as this brother of his did not live in the realm, I had never met him.'

She leaned over her armchair, closing her eyes for a moment.

'Once a year my king would visit the dry, waterless desert. Rumor said that every time he was there, he kept secret meetings with his brother. That they would spend some days together, talking, hunting and sparing. People from the wondering tribes, who had once come to pay their respect to the Queen, asserted that they had seen them together in the dusk's flickering distance. And the southern areas of the desert, the ones near the mountains, keep a good amount of hunting. Or maybe he visited the place because he was in hope of meeting him. Who knows? All those times he was away, I had to entertain my Queen more often, as she was left alone and sad. But my sweetest, precious Lady never complained, nor made a comment about his whereabouts. If she knew where her king was, she never mentioned it. So I do not know if there is a bit of truth in this rumor, but once he was back, he looked really content, I would say.'

I was so fascinated with the narration of her story that I'd stopped asking questions and had just let her go in her own way.

'They lived together many happy and prosperous years. They were blessed with four children, two sons and two daughters, all healthy and full of spirits'.

She smiled at me with tenderness. The remembrance of her dear Queen's children probably caused her motherly instincts. But the very next moment, she frowned.

'And my king dearly loved her, even though she grew old with the passage of time, and he still seemed in his early youth.'

She had told me so many strange things, but that one was too much to accept it.

'What?' I almost dropped my cup.

'Oh, yes. No wonder about it, dear. This is one of the qualities a Rider possesses.'

Again those riders? I was convinced that something was not working properly in her mind, so, not willing to insult her, I remained silent.

'She died after very many years of their being together. And he was inconsolable because no matter how much he tried, he was unable to heal her just another time, as he was used to doing for the last few years. She died in his arms, my dear, poor Queen. And he cried a stream of tears. And I was the only one to see him like that because he never permitted any other than his Queen to see this tenderness of his heart. Not even his own children.'

Another couple of tears emanated from her eyes and I was moved. She might have been old and lost in her dreams, but her love for this royal couple was real.

She dried her tears with the help of her laced handkerchief and took some deep breaths to continue.

'My king lived a few more years in the palace, always mourning his loss. But you may consider him a happy man.' She gave a bittersweet smile. 'Ηe lived many happy years with his beloved Queen and saw the increase of his generation. He saw his eldest praised as a king, all his children being happily married, giving him grandsons and granddaughters. Until the day he left.'

The dancer relaxed in her armchair, her previous tension gone.

'My king left the realm forever. He left for his brother's. He took this scaly beast of his and was gone. And, even I was so sorry for his departure, I couldn't help but have been relieved when this red creature left the place.'

'Red … creature?'I asked baffled. I hadn't understood a thing.

'My king's companion.' the lady explained. 'He was a magnificent but excessively frightening creature. You've seen his head on the pendant I showed you earlier. Luckily I met him only once. It was when I witnessed him swallowing a whole little deer, from those who lived in the park of the palace. The poor little creature probably died instantly because of fear. I almost did, when I saw the red, wild dragon staring at me. My king was angry after that and scolded him, so this terrible action was never repeated. But the dragon was his partner, the other half of his mind and soul - as he explained to me later - and he loved him dearly. As much as he loved my Queen, even though I never understood why. The beast was enormous and wild and although never harmed anybody else, my king was the only one to whom he showed tenderness.'

She presented the ruby pendant again and for the first time I noticed that it was indeed not a lizard, but the head of a dragon. If this king of hers could make the statue of a dancer look so alive, then I assumed that the head of the dragon was equally realistic. The pendant was indeed representing a magnificent creature, if it ever existed.

'And after my Queen was lost and my king had left, I decided to travel, to see the world. So here I am.'

She gestured around smiling and her eyes lit all her face. She was so dear, the fragile old lady of another, a bygone era, coming through a fairytale to this hard world, to sooth my feelings. I found myself sitting on her soft sofa, drinking her tea, listening to her story and holding in my lap the little statue of the dancer, once created by a singer king, while the Dancer was standing in front of me herself. Who was she, really? I'd never met anyone like her before. She had travelled me into her dreamy world.

In a daydreaming state I bade her goodbye and left for my home, my mind filled with Queens, Riders, Dragons ... A world that had captured me, for the following weeks.

A few days ago I happened again pass by her street, but when I paid my standard visit to the jewelry shop I found it closed. For good. The owner had gathered all her belongings and gone. Gone to another place, another country, another world maybe. Who knows?

I dream of her at nights, the way I would dream a grandmother I have never met and I like to think of her, fragile, elegant but determined to travel and spread her stories all around. The fairy tale of the High Queen and the Rider king of hers.

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**A/N:** I love the particular Dragon very dearly; it is the Dancer who is afraid of him :D

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**A/N: **Dear reader, if you have been pleased with my story then post me a review. If you haven't, post a review, anyway. Because … What is a blooming flower without water? What is an artist without applause? What is a fanfiction writer without a review? Thank you.


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